


Out From the Willows

by MithrilWren



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 'Personal Massagers' being put to their correct and proper use, Coming Untouched, Electricity, Established Relationship, F/F, Improvised Sex Toys, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Sex Toys Under Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MithrilWren/pseuds/MithrilWren
Summary: Beau and Yasha commission a very special tinkering project from Veth.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	Out From the Willows

**Author's Note:**

> I truly have not written smut for so very long, but, uh... yeah.

“Do you think she believed you?”

“I mean… no?” Yasha pulled her lips back over her teeth into an apologetic grimace. “I didn’t know how to ask, and she kept giving me that _look.”_

“What look?”

Yasha lifted one eyebrow and leaned in.

“Shit. Yeah. Don’t blame you for folding. That one’s a killer.”

“I think she knows something’s up, I just… I don’t think she knows you’re... involved?”

“Well, good. Good. We’ll just have to be–”

“Careful?”

Beau held her hand out, beckoning with her fingertips, and Yasha passed the little bag over. She started to draw the drawstring apart, but paused abruptly, fingers splayed between the cords. Thankfully, her wary eyes found the rest of the Nein all equally absorbed in the pleasures of tavern life they’d so dearly missed in Eiselcross – mainly, drinking, and dancing, then drinking some more. The only person paying the two of them the slightest attention was Caduceus, and to be honest, that was a lost cause. Beau had utterly given up on hiding any of her doings from him at this point, including her, uh–

Doings.

“Yeah,” she said, gulping as her other hand tightened around the bag, flattening its contents into a knobbly plane. “Careful.”

“So, do you–” Yasha’s pale skin had taken up a faint glimmer in the last few minutes. Beau wasn’t convinced it was the fire that had caused the sheen – if anything, the air in the bar was chilly. 

At least, _Beau_ was shivering. 

“Do you want to try it on?” Yasha said, softer now. “You know. To make sure it’s… comfortable?” 

Another chill went down her back. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll just– yeah. You wanna– uh– come with?”

“Veth would probably notice if we left together.”

“Ah, yeah. Good point. Right.” Beau stood from the table. Her legs shimmered beneath her. “I’m sure I can manage. Can’t be that complicated, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her hand along the nape of her neck. Despite the draft, Beau wasn’t too surprised to find a bit of sweat gathering there, considering her heart was thudding like a fucking drum. “I’ll be back down in a sec.”

She spun on her heel and darted for the staircase, trying and failing to stuff the bag in her pocket. Her fingers were unwilling to surrender their grip no matter what her better sense insisted, muscles too conscious of the consequences should the bag slip from her iron grasp. Nothing fatal, per se, but the embarrassment alone would take a decade to live down. She’d never be able to look Caleb in the eye again. 

A few more steps, round the corner, and there was the bedroom, thank fuck. As she slammed the door behind her, Beau finally let herself take a deep breath. 

Caleb hadn’t set up the mansion yet. Their things were still scattered across in the four rented rooms that none of them would be sleeping in tonight. Maybe it was just the sense of familiarity, but they kept going back to the same configuration from before, even now that the real estate was just for show. Beau and Yasha’s cloaks hung side by side on hooks by the door, and Jester’s coat lay on the bed closest to the window, fine white fabric crumpled, abandoned too hastily in Jester’s eagerness to be back where the music was. 

_Jester._ Jester, who was currently safely engaged in a heated conversation with the bartender. Jester, who definitely wasn’t going to come bounding up the stairs at any second, bursting in while Beau was halfway into–

 _Seeing_ Beau–

Okay, nope. One fantasy at a time, or her chest was going to explode.

Slumping down onto the edge of her own bed, Beau drew the drawstring open once more.

A flat set of interconnected metal beads about the size of her palm lay within the velvet pouch, strung together with a lattice of soft leather cords. Four woven tails, two to each end, spilled between her fingers as she drew the apparatus out. Their length reached almost down to the floor once exposed to the air. Beau collapsed backwards onto the bed, holding the beads up to the moonlight. She ran her fingertips over the smooth lumps, feeling for the few that were irregular – carved of quartz instead of steel, and slightly warm to the touch. The contrast in temperature made her teeth ache.

“Alright,” she whispered to herself. There was nobody there to mock how her voice fumbled around the word. She thought of Yasha, sitting downstairs at their table, imagined her – imagined her imagining _Beau,_ and what she was doing right now. 

Drawing in another rattling breath, Beau got to work. Her deft fingers were steadier with a task to do: braiding, then tying off, then running in circles and fastening the tails into an adjustable slipknot at the front. She eventually managed to fashion something vaguely akin to the more... sparse… underclothes she’d blushed over the last time Jester dragged her out to pursue the lingerie shops of Nicodranas. The beads lay near the front, if you could call it that, and Beau shimmied out of her leggings and stood to slip the whole thing on, drawing up the cords and tightening until the mesh of beads lay flat over the bushel of dark hair between her legs. 

Gingerly, she lowered herself back down to the edge of the bed, nervous that the contraption would pull in a painful way when she wasn’t standing, but the beads were smooth – small enough not to press too hard into sensitive skin, but large enough that each groove and dip was noticeable. Beau leaned forward, spreading her legs a little farther to hitch the blanket up from where it had caught beneath her thighs and–

Ah–

As the beads nudged deeper in, shifting with her movement, a little tingle began to spread from the base of her feet to the back of her knees. Beau let out a breath and rocked back. The beads resettled, no longer prodding, but now she was keenly aware that a shift of the legs could drag them suddenly back over the same spot.

Sitting alone in the dark, shirt still on and legs bare, Beau considered her options. She could take the beads off, re–dress, head back to the crowd downstairs and wink at Yasha, knowing that they could pick up the thread another day.

...But that would sort of defeat the point, wouldn’t it? 

Blushing all the way down past the first strip of blue bound around her chest, Beau reached over the side of the bed for her leggings. The cotton dragged against the beads as she stood, carefully, and started her trek to the door. Thankfully, her expert knots – _thanks, Fjord, but I’ll never tell you where your education’s gotten me_ – seemed to have done the trick; the garment didn’t ride up or down as she walked, but the motion occasionally shifted the beads in just such a way that they would slip between her legs, brushing past hair and gliding against silky skin for only an instant before her legs came together again. Beau swallowed, thinking that she’d take water over whiskey, just this once.

Yasha was still where Beau had left her when she sat back down at the table, the nervous flush across her cheeks visible even from the staircase. Pale skin shows all secrets. Beau’s lucky, in that way.

“Did it work?” Yasha muttered, without meeting Beau’s eyes. Her words were so quiet Beau had to strain to hear them.

“Yup.”

“Oh. Good.”

“...I’m wearing it right now.”

Yasha’s wide eyes were abruptly fixed on her.

“You are? Where–”

“Under everything else.” Yasha’s gaze flickered down. Her hand twitched, nails pressing into the wooden tabletop, and Beau held her breath – suddenly utterly convinced that she needed those wavering hands on _her,_ _now,_ but intensely aware that while they were in public, neither of them could do a thing. She shifted, and found that the beads slid even more smoothly than they did when she left the bedroom.

“Wow,” Yasha murmured, and Beau nodded shakily. It was about all the communication she was capable of without letting some softer sound slip. “Did you want me to, um, test out the rest?”

 _Yes,_ fuck _, yes._ Beau glanced around at all the strangers in their midst. Wondered how quiet the spell would be. 

Wondered how quiet _she_ could be.

_Shit._

“Maybe when we’re in private? The first time?”

“Mhm. Sounds like– sounds like a plan.”

“A good plan.”

“Yup.”

Yasha’s hand moved, and for a moment, Beau almost thought she was moving it down to Beau’s leg. She imagined it spread her thighs apart, feeling the space between, pressing fingers against cool metal and testing how far they could push– but the hand drifted to her neck instead. Yasha pulled her in for a breathless kiss, and the heat of her mouth was all–consuming, and the heat of the rest of her pounded in time.

When she finally pulled away, bruise–lipped and grinning, Caleb was across the table, fidgeting with his cat’s cradle as he waited for them to finish. 

“You were going to help me with that translation, Beau?” He put a few books down on the table – not a question, then, but an irritated reminder. Rolling her eyes, Beau leaned forward, throwing Yasha an apologetic look. She smiled obligingly in return and went to fetch more drinks while the two of them got to work.

And work they did, while the light lasted, and all that time the beads nudged, and nudged, and Beau was undoubtedly less helpful than either of them expected, with those tiny pricks of sensation taking up so much space in her mind.

* * *

It began as a joke, between the two of them. One late night of talking turned to arms entwined, turned to slow kisses and breathing heavy without a single touch of fingers. “What kind of things would you like to try?” and “I don’t know”, became “this, and that too”. But it was Yasha who was braver, who said to one of Beau’s – admittedly, sillier – suggestions, 

“You know, I think we could figure out how to do that.”

And just like that, the not–so–silly–after–all idea took hold of the both of them. They went to the shops first to see if what they wanted could be found, or made on special order, but ultimately came to the frustrating conclusion that the average sex shop proprietor didn’t have a strong grasp on arcane enchantments, at least not on the scale of what they were asking. (Or, more accurately, what _Beau_ was asking, in a voice loud enough to drown out the embarrassment rushing like a torrent in her own ears, while Yasha blushed and made herself busy with pamphlets in the corner.)

But once they had the thought, it wouldn’t go away, and it was Yasha who suggested asking Veth for help. After all, she’d done something similar with her bolts – surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to extend the range? Alter the material? Beau teased Yasha that Kord probably wouldn’t approve of this particular new application of lightning. (But in her secret opinion, any god that made that kind of thing his business was a perv and his opinion didn’t count.)

Having avoided any divine retribution, Beau and Yasha found themselves alone in their room a few days after Veth’s delivery and Beau’s tavern experiment. The others were out doing whatever it is they did with their spare time – probably face masks or garden walks or proselytizing to the local religious zealots. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a risk of someone returning early, barging through the door with nary a knock, but Beau couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t a big part of the appeal of the whole affair.

She lay on her back in the middle of the mattress, watching her own reflection, and the reflection of Yasha sitting at her side. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, as Yasha’s hand stroked at the divot of her hipbone. Below her fingertips, a blue hem lay above a shadowed absence, just big enough for fingers to dip inside.

“Can I feel?”

Beau nodded, and Yasha, strangely tentative now, as though this wasn’t something they’d done a hundred times before, slipped her hand beneath Beau’s hem, beneath her underclothes too, until they landed on the periphery of the metal beads. It was too soon, too light a touch to feel any real sensation, but Beau gasped anyway, watching the shifts of fabric ripple like waves on the sea.

Yasha’s fingers trailed over the beads, pressing here and there, making out the familiar features beneath. Beau’s breathing grew heavier as their smooth weight lapped against her – feet already curling at the thought that Yasha’s circling fingers were just _there,_ but couldn’t go low enough to touch her properly. It was a touch by proxy – a flicking of quartz fingertips – a kiss through a curtain, where both lovers knew the shape that pushed back from behind the veil.

The fingers left, and Beau licked her lips, forced herself to remain still. Closed her eyes, so the next moment would be a real surprise.

And it was, because at the beginning, the feeling wasn’t the sudden shock Beau was expecting. Instead, it was a low warmth, noiselessly humming, as the cool metal began to vibrate slightly against her. But soon enough, the warmth turned into a buzz, and Beau punched out a gasp as she shifted her hips and the beads slipped right up against her. Her legs fell apart, and as more of the beads nestled into place, the buzzing grew more insistent. The electric sensation arced between the quartz conductors and through the whole lattice of beads, until there was no part of her that didn’t feel their phantom touch.

That stimulation alone would have been enough to bring her over in time. Her orgasm built in slow waves, as she twitched and breathed out in slow pants. She nearly forgot that Yasha was still beside her.

But then there were fingers on her again, Yasha’s broad hand slipping out of sight to press against the beads, and then it was her hand and the lightning and everything melded together. Beau gave a cry and clenched her legs together around Yasha’s hand, hips rocking up as the aftershocks rolled through her thighs and down to her toes. 

The beads kept buzzing, and Beau kept her legs together, trapping Yasha there, afraid of the intensity of sensation that would greet her if she let the beads settle once more. 

“Should I turn it off?” 

Shaking, Beau nodded, and a _click_ signalled the end of the sensation. The buzzing died down, and Beau finally opened her eyes to find Yasha staring at the little control device in her hand in wonder.

“Good ‘massage’?” she said, and Beau grinned and pulled her down for a sloppy kiss.

“It definitely hit the right spots,” she mumbled into her mouth. “I think Veth’s got a new inventing career waiting for her.”

“I wonder what else she could tinker together if we asked.”

“Maybe later. I think this’ll keep us busy for a while.”

* * *

Not as busy as Beau hoped, as it turned out. Half of the fantasy had been wearing the thing in public, knowing Yasha held the controls, and could turn the pleasure on or off in an instant. But Beau wore the thing every day for a week, and Yasha _knew_ that she was wearing it, but her hands never strayed to the right button.

The first few days, Beau was in an almost perpetual state of breathless arousal, worrying her blue leggings would show the stain of it, embarrassed to find herself even more turned on at the thought of being discovered that way. But Yasha said nothing, and the beads lay dormant, and eventually, it came to the point that Beau almost forgot they were there, save being another thing to meddle with whenever she needed to take a piss.

At last, their last day in civilization came. All of them saddled up the horses they’d acquired for the morning’s ride, out to the little town ten miles farther along the Amber Road where they’d heard tell of another cabal of Tharizdun cultists. Yasha and Fjord made up the rear guard, while Caduceus and Jester took the head, watching for signs of trouble along the way. This left Beau in an easy middle position with Caleb and Veth, and not much interesting to distract herself with.

Thankfully, neither their information was urgent nor was any trouble expected along the road. It was a pleasant spring day, in a peaceful, rural portion of the Empire – the most they had to fear were bandits stupid enough to accost a group so well–provisioned, and if they were _that_ stupid, Beau wasn’t exactly concerned about their chances. 

They took the trip at a leisurely pace, never spurring their horses past an easy trot. Most of the Nein chatted, or watched the scenery. Caleb and Veth carried on an amiable conversation about some new bit of magical minutia they’d learned from Yussa on their last visit, and Beau was content just to sit in silence for a bit, only half listening, and just enjoy the breeze.

A little buzz, no more than an insect’s tickle, crept along her body. At first she couldn’t even place where the sensation was coming from. Beau scratched at her knee and frowned. No, not there. She scratched at the place where her thigh met her horse’s flank. Now she was feeling it in her scalp, and between her legs – like a trickle of sweat, despite the moderate temperature. She shifted, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the sun’s state behind them, and landed instead on Yasha’s blank, determined stare, fixed directly on Beau. 

Her hand was in her pocket.

Beau’s heart gave a jolt. So did the beads. She swung around on her horse, staring directly ahead as her pulse began to climb. 

Now that she knew what was happening, it was impossible to mistake the slow wave of heat building against the saddle. With each of the horse’s footfalls, the beads rocked into her, and with her legs spread by the horse between them, she was helpless to angle herself away from the sensation, even as the hum gained in intensity and her breath caught in her throat.

Dimly, she heard Veth and Caleb shift to a different subject – something about a prank, maybe a con they’d pulled once – and she focused on keeping her breath even, on keeping her – oh _fuck_ – legs from clenching together and spurring the horse into a canter. The last thing she needed was for everyone to stop and ask her what the hurry was. 

Fuck, she’d be cursing at Yasha right now if she could. She’d been expecting a shop trip, maybe a library visit, somewhere she could duck out of sight if things got too intense and finish off in private. Here on the open road, surrounded by their friends and helpless to call a stop without impossible questions, she had no recourse but to accept the sensations as they came. Only Yasha had the power to stop it. And she didn’t think Yasha was going to stop it, no matter how many pleading looks Beau threw her direction, not until she came to some sort of conclusion.

After all, isn’t that what she’d asked for?

Beau shivered, clenching around nothing, as the miles drew on.

The length of it was the worst (best) part. Because the pressure wasn’t consistent, she could only rely on the shifting of the horse’s flanks to bring the beads up close enough to really tip the scale above a nagging, unsatisfying level of arousal. She tried rocking her hips, but that only led Fjord to ask if she was sore from their morning workout, barely bothering to mask his shit–eating grin. She gave him the middle finger, but kept her hips still after that, and resolved herself to the fact that wasn’t going to be able to hurry things along either. This was going to last exactly as long as it took.

She had just worked up the courage to try and engage Caleb in conversation, figuring at least listening to him ramble on about his latest theories might be distracting enough to take the edge off, when the sensations began to change. Beau weakly laughed off Caleb’s concerned frown when she couldn’t stop the sharp exhale from slipping out of her mouth. 

She’d thought this thing only had one setting. Apparently, Veth was more creative than she’d realized.

What at first was a buzz became a throb, undulating waves of heat so vivid it almost felt like the beads were moving on their own, rolling against her skin and pressing up to every part of her in a steady rhythm. She bit her lip and tried to focus on Caleb’s words, but in the end, all she could do was hold onto the reins, her thighs clenching uselessly against the saddle. Each attempt to shift away from the throbbing beads only served to spread her legs further apart, and where she had previously longed for their steady touch, she now couldn’t find an angle where that touch wasn’t ever present. The beads slipped easily against her skin, sticky and rustling over the soaked fabric beneath her legs as she glided against the saddle, rocking with the motion of the horse’s trot, as the waves built, and crashed, and built again–

“Do you see that? Up ahead. I think– I better go check it out,” she managed to puff out to Caleb, who stared at her, dumbfounded, as she at last gave in, pressed her knees into the horse’s flanks, and _flew._

Pounding down the dusty road, Beau laid her chest against the horse’s shoulders, broad muscles rippling beneath her as she held tight to the reins, held on for dear life, as the beads’ tempo increased with the speed of her passage, until she couldn’t tell whether the horse or her hips were bucking, whether it was the heat of electricity or the friction of skin against cotton and leather that caused the sparks behind her eyes to fizzle and flash. Throwing all embarrassment to the racing winds, she pressed her feet into the stirrups and her knees together as far as they would go, and no one could hear her cry over the thundering hooves as at last the dam spilled over. Each quivering clench of legs brought her farther away from the group, closer to the sky, and if the beads stopped buzzing somewhere along the line, she couldn’t have said when. 

Someone was shouting. Another voice answered, and a second set of hoofbeats flew up to meet Beau’s. Her horse began to slow from its wild gallop, recognizing the sound of its counterpart approaching from behind.

“You ok?”

Beau sucked in a breath, and Yasha’s tone grew worried.

“Beau? I’m sorry, was that–?”

“Perfect,” Beau grunted, and though her hands were still aching from their death grip on the reins, she managed a shaky thumbs up.

“That was…” Yasha trailed off. “That was really hot.” Her voice grew quieter still, though the others were still a hundred feet off. “ _You’re_ perfect.”

“Yeah?” Beau grinned cheekily, but she couldn’t quite meet Yasha’s eyes. Her heart was thudding again, suddenly bashful, as though they hadn’t just spent the last half hour fucking in public (more or less). 

Funny, how those things go. 

“Perfect,” Yasha said again, and leaned over to kiss Beau’s temple, damp as it might be, with a tenderness no phantom touch could equal.

 _Yeah,_ Beau thought. _It really is._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [mithrilwren](https://mithrilwren.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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